F 

855 
.  I 


BANCROFT 
LIBRARY 

«» 

THE  LIBRARY 

OF 

THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  CALIFORNIA 


fin  &  SHELLING 


A  NAPA  GHRISTGH1LD. 


—  AND- 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 


PRESS   OF 
COMMERCIAL    PUBLISHING   COMPANY. 


THE   MOTHER  AND  SISTERS 

Of 
EDOUARD  STOLTERFOHT, 

THIS  Christmas  book  is  offered,  to  keep  in  memory 
sunny  winter  days,  spent  in  Rostock,  Hohen  Niendorf 
bei  Kroepelin,  and  Gross  Kussewitz,  and  with  the 
added  hope  that  Poppendorf  bei  Bentwish  will  not 
forget  that  I  wrote  in  the  house-book  — 

You  have  a  gentle  cure  for  parting's  pain  ; 

It  is  your  German  word  Aufwiederseh'n. 


340140 


YH-AH  i:  1,1 


i=::vF'HESE  are  just  old-fashioned  Christmas  tales, 
to  be  read  before  an  open  fire,  with  a  heart  full 
of  charity  for  me.  There  is  no  modern  realism 
in  them,  for  every  word  is  a  lie,  the  telling  of  which 
has  given  me  the  greatest  pleasure.  I  have  also 
stolen  a  quotation  from  Hawthorne,  which  is  the  best 
thing  in  the  book,  and  last  I  have  had  the  exquisite 
joy  of  bloodless  murder  in  killing  one  of  my  people. 
Thus,  you  see,  I  need  your  charity  truly,  for  I  have 
broken  deliberately,  for  your  entertainment,  Three 
out  of  a  possible  Ten. 

CHARLES  A.  GUNNISON, 

In  the  Embarcadero  Rd. 

Palo  Alto,  Santa  Clara. 
Christmas,  iSgb. 


r/erei: 


I. 


>N  EVENING  sky,  broken  by 
wandering  clouds,  which  has- 
tening onward  toward  the 
north,  bear  their  rich  gifts  of 
longed-for  rain  to  the  brown  mea- 
dows, filling  the  heavens  from  east  to 
west  with  graceful  lines  and  swelling 
bosoms,  save,  just  at  the  horizon  where 
the  sun  descended  paints  a  broad, 
lurid  streak  of  crimson,  glowing  amid 
the  deepening  shadows,  a  coal  in 
dead,  gray  ashes. 


2  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

Darker  grows  the  streak,  as  a  stain 
of  blood,  while  the  clouds  about  it 
now  assume  a  purple  tinge  with 
gloomier  shadings  ;  suddenly  in  the 
centre  of  the  lurid  field  starts  out  as 
if  that  moment  born  to  Earth,  with 
clear,  silver  light,  the  Evening  Star. 
The  colour  slowly  fades  till  all  is  dead 
and  ashy,  and  the  silver  star  drops 
down  below  the  purpled  hills,  leaving 
for  a  moment  a  soft,  trembling  twi- 
light ;  the  dense  clouds  then  rolling 
in  between,  blot  out  the  last  sign  of 
departed  day  and  night  is  come. 

It  was  Christmas  Eve.  The  winter 
was  late,  and  rain  had  fallen  during 
the  last  few  weeks  only,  so  that  the 
fields  were  just  assuming  the  fresh 
pea-green  colour  of  their  new  life,  and 
the  long,  dead  grass  still  standing 
above  the  recent  growth  gave  that  odd 
smokey  appearance  to  the  hills  and 
mesas,  so  familiar  to  all  us  Californians 
also  in  our  olive  groves.  The  night, 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


however,  was  dark  and  nothing  of 
hills,  or  mesas,  or  gray  fields,  could 
be  seen  as  the  hurrying  bands  of 
clouds  joined  together  in  one  great 
company,  overspreading  the  whole 
sky  and  clothing  all  in  a  dreary  shroud 
of  blackness. 

The  little  arroyo,  which  was  dry  in 
the  summertime,  had  now  risen,  in- 
creased by  last  week's  tribute  to  be 
quite  a  large  stream,  tearing  noisely 
among  the  rocks  and  over  its  old 
courses,  giving  friendly  greetings  of 
recognition  to  the  old  water-marks 
and  dashing  a  playful  wave  now  and 
then  about  the  worn  roots  of  the 
enormous  laurel  tree  whose  branches 
reached  high  above  and  far  around. 

Beneath  the  tree's  protecting  limbs, 
a  little  cabin,  of  roughest  workman- 
ship, found  shelter  from  the  wind,  or 
shade  from  the  intense  heat  of  sum- 
mer ;  the  house  was  built  almost  en- 
tirely of  logs,  excepting  the  upper 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


part  where  boards  had  been  used  and 
through  which  were  cut  the  three 
windows  which  served  to  light  the 
single  room  it  contained. 

This  Christmas  Eve,  only  the  dark 
form  of  the  cabin  was  to  be  seen  with 
the  tall  adobe  chimney  built  up  the 
outside  ;  the  smoke  blew,  beaten  here 
and  there,  about  the  roof  till  it  finally 
disappeared,  a  cloud  of  ghosts,  among 
the  swaying  branches  of  the  laurel 
tree. 

By  day  in  the  sunshine,  no  pleas- 
anter  spot  could  be  found  than  the 
little  cabin  and  broad  fields  of  Cres- 
cimir  the  Illyrian,  no  lovelier  view  of 
the  rich  Napa  Valley  could  be  had 
than  from  the  hill  where  Crescimir's 
cattle  grazed  and  no  happier  home 
could  have  been  found  in  all  the  Cal- 
ifornias  than  his,  had  he  not  been  so 
alone,  without  a  friend  and  far  from 
his  native  country. 

On  the  very  day  which  opens  this 


A    NAP  A    CHRISTCHILD. 


story,  one  might  have  stood  upon  the 
bridge  and  watched  the  lazy  flowing 
of  the  river  on  whose  dull  green  sur- 
face all  the  spans  and  bars  were  shad- 
owed, and  on  the  buttress  seen  the 
sunshine  in  ever  changing,  trembling 
glints  of  gold.  ,Dead  thistles  were  on 
the  bank  rustling  in  the  breeze  and 
the  long  tules  by  the  water-side,  some 
broken,  others  upright,  waved  grace- 
fully, moved  by  both  wind  and  cur- 
rent. To  the  left  hand  on  both  sides  of 
the  arroyo  which  here  joined  the  river, 
one  could  have  seen  Crescimir's  fields 
and  the  vegetable  garden  with  its 
whitey-green  cabbages,  the  rich  brown 
heaps  of  manure  and  straw,  and  the 
beds  of  beets  all  crimson  and  green, 
then  the  borders  of  oaks  and  the  far, 
blue  hills,  while  myriads  of  little  gray- 
winged  moths  hovered  over  the  masses 
of  tangled  blackberry  vines  and  giant 
dock.  To  the  southward  rose,  far 
away,  the  peak  of  glorious  Tamalpais, 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


a  dark  blue  dash  without  a  shadow. 
There  were  the  black,  ploughed  fields, 
steaming  in  the  sunshine,  larks  spring- 
ing up  from  the  glittering  leaves,  and 
noisy  squirrels  in  the  bay  tree  laying 
away  their  stores  of  nuts  and  maize 
in  its  hundred  hollows.  Leaning  up- 
on the  rail  and  watching  the  river, 
rippled  in  the  centre  but  calm  and 
glassy  near  the  banks,  one  could  have 
seen  the  silver  fish  springing  from  the 
water  for  the  insects  playing  about  the 
surface,  and  could  have  breathed  the 
rich  perfume  of  growing  onions  and 
the  sweet,  fresh,  green  life. 

On  the  hillside  Crescimir  had 
planted  grape  vines,  but  they  were 
young  yet  and  bore  no  fruit,  still,  had 
they  borne  the  heaviest  of  clusters 
there  was  no  one  to  eat  them  then  for 
there  were  but  few  settlers  in  the  val- 
ley and  Crescimir  had  no  neighbours, 
but  the  Rancho  Tulucay,  nearer  than 
the  little  village  three  miles  distant. 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


Thus  Crescimir  the  Illyrian  lived 
alone  improving  his  lands  and  selling 
vegetables  to  the  Yankee  traders  who 
came  up  the  river  in  their  little 
schooners ;  he  was  always  busy 
ploughing  and  dressing  the  gardens  or 
clearing  away  the  chaparral. 

Two  years  had  been  spent  here 
since  he  had  left  his  fatherland,  amid 
the  wild  scenes  of  the  Julian  Alps.  It 
was  on  a  Christmas  Eve  that  he  had 
bidden  his  old  friends  good  bye  and 
at  each  return  of  the  day  he  thought 
more  sadly  of  his  lonely  life,  sighing  for 
the  old  mountain  village  where  he  had 
so  often  made  merry  with  his  com- 
rades. 

There  was  one  bright  spot  in  Cres- 
cimir's  daily  routine  and  he  prized 
that  above  all  the  day,  for  it  showed 
to  him  that  there  was  one  person  who 
did  think  of  him,  though  who  he 
could  never  learn.  For  a  year  or 
more  he  had  found  each  day  at  his 


8  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

cabin  door  a  bunch  of  garden  flowers 
and  in  their  place  he  daily  left  a 
bunch  of  his  sweetest  onions  or  some 
rare  vegetable,  which  were  always 
taken  away. 

The  rain  began  to  fall,  after  Cres- 
cimir,  having  made  the  horse  and  cattle 
right  for  the  night,  started  to  his 
cabin.  The  barn  was  on  the  summit 
of  the  knoll,  at  the  foot  of  which,  by 
the  arroyo,  he  had  built  his  little  house 
of  one  room. 

Crescimir  felt  his  way  along  through 
the  vegetable  garden,  carrying  the 
milk  pail  in  one  hand  and  holding  the 
lantern  out  before  him  with  the  other; 
the  light  glistened  upon  the  tall  stalks 
of  last  year's  maize  and  gleamed  back 
from  the  glossy,  pungent  leaves  of  the 
bay  tree,  from  the  tin  pail  and  his 
wet  boots,  all  reflected  in  the  little 
pools  fast  collecting  in  the  path.  As 
he  neared  the  cabin  the  rain  fell  as  it 
seldom  does,  save  in  the  tropics,  and 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


Crescimir  entering  the  cabin  closed 
the  door  with  a  noise,  warning  the 
storm  not  to  encroach  on  the  little 
bit  of  the  world  which  was  his  own. 

Inside  the  cabin  there  was  a  blaz- 
ing wood-fire  on  the  open  hearth  and 
a  lighted  candle  on  the  table  ;  the  in- 
terior was  homelike  and  comfortable; 
in  one  corner  stood  the  bed  with 
white  cover,  there  were  two  arm  chairs, 
a  tall  dresser  and  two  tables,  one  of 
the  tables  set  for  supper,  which  con- 
sisted simply  of  bread  and  milk  which 
Crescimir  was  ready  for  as  soon  as  he 
had  washed  his  hands  at  the  pump  in 
the  little  'Mean- to,"  and  exchanged 
his  long  boots  for  a  pair  of  easy  slip- 
pers. 

Over  the  fireplace  hung  a  bunch  of 
crimson  toyone  berries  and  a  branch 
of  hemlock,  which  Crescimir  had 
hung  there  to  mark  the  holiday.  He 
did  not  sit  down  at  once  to  his  meal, 
but  stood,  leaning  against  the  chimney 


10  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

piece,  meditatively  picking  off  bits  of 
the  hemlock  and  throwing  them  into 
the  fire  where  they  crackled  with  a 
merry  noise  and  blazed  up,  scenting 
the  room  with  their  fragrance  of  the 
forest. 

As  he  threw  the  bits  into  the  fire 
he  sang  that  melody  which  thelllyrian 
children  sing  when  bearing  home  their 
Christmas  trees,  found  always  in  the 
deep  forests;  it  was  a  song  dear  to 
him  and  the  words  brought  up  mem- 
ories of  all  his  happy  home  life  and 
he  grew  sad  as  he  thought  of  the  lonely 
present. 

"  Deep  in  the  wilds  of  Illyria's  mountains 

Under  a  hemlock  tree, 
Good  Spirits  buried  a  wonderful  treasure, 

Long  years  ago  for  me. 
There  in  the  gloom  by  a  snow-born  fountain 

We  found  the  hemlock  tree, 
Bore  it  away  with  loud  notes  of  pleasure, 

Hearts  overrunning  with  glee. 

Here  is  my  hemlock  tree 

Christchild  kiss  it  for  me, 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  II 

Make  every  branch  bear 

A  gift  that  is  fair, 

This  glossy -leaved  hemlock  tree, 

Evergreen  hemlock  tree. 

Hemlock  ne'er  blooms  unless  kissed  by  the 

Christchild, 

Glossy- leaved  hemlock  tree  ! 
Come  little  Christchild  and  breathe  on  its 

branches 

That  its  fair  blossoms  we  see ; 
Kissed  by  the  lips  of  the  Heavenly  Christ- 
child, 

Blessed  by  the  wind  so  free, 
Grown  o'er  the  treasure  the  Good  Spirits 

planted 

Wondrous  its  fruit  must  be ! 
Here  is  my  hemlock  tree, 
Christchild  kiss  it  for  me. 
Make  every  branch  bear 
A  gift  that  is  fair, 
This  glossy-leaved  hemlock  tree, 
Evergreen  hemlock  tree." 

"Alas  for  me,"  exclaimed  Cresci- 
mir,  "my  happy  Christchild  days  are 
over  and  I  fear  he  has  forgotten  where 


12  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

I  live  out  in  Alta  California  and  will 
never  bring  me  anything  again." 

Just  as  the  song  was  finished,  a 
sound  was  heard  at  the  door  but  Cres- 
cimir  thinking  that  it  was  the  wind, 
gave  no  attention  to  it,  sitting  down  to 
his  supper. 

He  had  not  eaten  the  first  spoon- 
ful of  his  bread  and  milk  when  the 
door  opened  and  by  the  aid  of  the 
firelight,  for  the  draught  extinguished 
the  candle,  he  saw  a  pretty,  little, 
golden  haired  child  in  a  short,  white 
frock  which  reached  to  the  knees; 
the  child  wore  neither  hat,  shoes,  nor 
stockings  and,  what  seemed  most  re- 
markable, was  dry  despite  the  heavy 
rain.  The  little  creature  as  quietly 
closed  the  door  as  he  had  opened  it, 
and  smiling,  walked  up  to  the  hearth, 
spreading  out  before  it  his  tiny,  pink 
hands. 


II. 

THE  little  visitor  stretched 
out  his  hands  to  warm  them  at 
the  fire,  his  shadow  formed  a 
flickering  cross  upon  the  floor. 
Crescimir  noticed  this,  and  also  won- 
dering at  the  mysterious  advent  of  the 
child,  which  coming  so  closely  upon 
his  song,  caused  him  almost  to  think 
that  he  must  be  dreaming. 

"Art  thou  the  Christchild ?"  he 
said  finally,  to  the  little  figure  which 
stood  with  its  back  toward  him  gazing 
up  at  the  branch  of  hemlock  above  the 
fireplace. 


14  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

The  child  turned  around  and  look- 
ing merrily  at  Crescimir,  broke  into  a 
fit  of  boisterous  laughter,  but  did  not 
answer. 

"Thou  art  not  a  very  polite  little 
boy,  to  break  into  a  house  this  way 
and  then  not  answer  a  simple  ques- 
tion. Thou  art  no  Austrian  Christ- 
child,  I  am  sure  of  that.  No  matter," 
he  added,  as  he  saw  the  little  face 
pucker  up  for  a  cry,  ' «  wait  till  we  are 
better  acquainted  and  then  we  can 
talk  it  all  over." 

The  child  smiled  again  and  made  a 
sign  indicating  that  he  wanted  the 
hemlock  branch  above  his  head. 
Crescimir  took  it  down  for  him  and 
as  soon  as  the  little  creature  received 
it,  he  began  hopping  about  the  room, 
holding  the  branch  aloft  and  humming 
the  melody  which  Crescimir  had  just 
been  singing. 

"  Truly,  thou  art  a  strange  little 
elf,  but  I  know  how  to  tell  if  thou  art 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  15 

mortal.  Wilt  them  have  thy  supper?" 
and  he  held  out  a  spoonful  of  the 
bread  and  milk  to  the  dancing  figure. 
The  child  immediately  stopped  his 
whirling,  and  running  to  Crescimir, 
eagerly  ate  the  food,  and  then  climb- 
ing into  his  lap,  sat  there  quietly,  with 
expectant  face  as  if  anticipating  a 
share  in  the  rest  of  the  supper.  So 
Crescimir  took  one  spoonful  and  the 
Christchild  the  next,  until  the  bowl 
was  empty. 

"  I  am  glad  that  thou  art  come, 
little  one,"  said  Crescimir,  as  he  held 
the  child  in  his  arms,  seated  in  the 
wooden  armchair  before  the  fire. 
"  Thou  hast  made  my  Christmas  Eve 
a  very  pleasant  one,  but  I  wish  that  I 
could,  know  who  thou  art  and  whether 
thy  parents  are  anxiously  searching 
for  thee  this  stormy  night.  Canst  thou 
not  speak?" 

The  child  shook  his  golden  head 
olemnly  and  began  throwing  bits  of 


1 6  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

the  hemlock  into  the  flames,  watching 
the  blaze  they  made  as  if  he  could 
read  in  it. 

Crescimir  had  spoken  in  German 
and  the  little  waif  understood  him, 
but  it  seemed  that  he  was  unable  to 
answer  except  in  a  cooing  sound  ex- 
pressive of  his  sensations  ;  however, 
he  could  sing  most  sweetly,  not  artic- 
ulating, but  singing  as  a  bird  and 
making  beautiful  melody.  The  song 
which  Crescimir  had  been  singing 
when  he  entered,  seemed  to  please  his 
ear  greatly  and  he  warbled  it  over 
again  in  his  strangely  sweet  tones. 
Crescimir  sung  the  song  a  number  of 
times  to  him  and  also  many  others, 
some  of  which  with  their  merry  music, 
breathing  fresh  from  the  high  Alps, 
caused  his  little  hand  to  keep  time 
with  the  hemlock  branch  as  he  joined 
in  the  songs  with  his  curious  notes. 

"  Thou  art  a  little  elf  !"  exclaimed 
Crescimir  as  he  kissed  the  rosy  face. 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


"  Thou  bringest  back  all  the  old  days 
and  makest  me  feel  as  merry  as  I  used 
in  far  off  Illyria.  Bless  thee  little 
Christchild." 

The  mysterious  guest  laughed  gaily 
pulling  Crescimir's  hair  and  drawing 
his  smooth  ringers  over  the  dark, 
weather  beaten  face  of  the  man.  Then 
he  played  horse,  riding  on  Crescimir's 
knee  using  the  branch  for  a  whip, 
while  Crescimir  sang  little  verses 
which  came  to  his  mind,  verses  which 
set  to  rolicking  music  he  had  sung  in 
his  old  home  on  feast  days  at  dances 
in  the  tavern,  accompanied  by  zither 
or  hackbretl. 

"  My  girl  has  ta'en  her  love  away, 
I  'm  easier  now  I  guess, 

Don't  have  to  go  so  oft  to  church, 
Nor  half  so  oft  confess — 
Nor  half  so  oft  confess." 

The  wind  blew  harder  but  neither 
Crescimir  nor  his  guest  heeded  it, 
while  the  roaring  of  the  arroyo  and 


18  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

river  and  the  steady  pouring  of  the 
rain  on  the  roof  did  not  mar  their 
merry  making  in  the  least,  and  they 
laughed  and  sung  regardless  of  it  all. 

"  Now  I  have  two  girls, 

An  old  one  and  a  new, 
So  now  I  need  two  hearts, 

A  false  one  and  a  true." 

He  continued: 

"Here  Heavenly  Father, 
"  T  were  fine  to  remain 
If  for  just  half  an  hour 
'T  would  gold  dollars  rain." 

Just  then  the  little  cabin  shook. 

"'Strong  wind  to-night  ;  it  is  lucky 
for  thee,  Christchild,  that  thou  hast 
found  shelter  and  lucky  for  me  that 
the  evening  which  promised  to  be  so 
dull  has  been  a  very  merry  one. 

"  Don't  be  so  sad,  boy, 

If  she  did  treat  thee  rough, 

The  world  is  like  a  hen-roost, 
Has  pullets  quite  enough." 


A    NAPA   CHRISTCHILD.  19 

Crescimir  ceased  singing,  for  the 
Christchild  stopped  suddenly  in  his 
romping,  gazing  fixedly  with  his  large, 
wondering  eyes  upon  the  floor. 

"  What  see'st  thou,  little  one  ?  " 

The  child  pointed  to  the  door  and 
Crescimir  saw  two  small  streams  of 
white,  foamy  water  pouring  in  from 
each  side,  and  the  floor  was  covered. 
Crescimir  quickly  placed  the  Christ- 
child  on  the  table  and  started  to  open 
the  door,  but  before  he  reached  it, 
the  house  trembled  as  if  in  an  earth- 
quake shock  and  the  door  fell  back 
into  the  room  with  a  loud  crash,  while 
a  volume  of  seething  water  washed 
over  it  almost  throwing  him  down 
with  its  terrible  force.  The  water 
poured  in  little  jets  through  the  cracks 
in  the  walls  and  rushing  into  the  fire- 
place put  out  the  flames  and  left  the 
room  in  total  darkness. 

The  water  rose  rapidly  and  by  the 
time  that  Crescimir  had  grasped  the 


20  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

form  of  his  little  guest  and  opening 
one  of  the  windows  had  drawn  himself 
with  his  charge  upon  the  roof,  the  flood 
had  reached  the  upper  sashes. 

The  cabin  swayed  to  and  fro  and 
every  moment  seemed  about  to  be 
carried  from  its  foundations.  The 
Christchild  made  no  sound  of  fear  and 
Crescimir  could  not  see  his  face,  yet 
he  held  the  long  hemlock  branch 
tightly  in  his  little  hand. 

The  roof  was  firmly  built  of  logs 
and  planks  so  in  case  the  house  fell 
it  could  be  used  as  a  raft  and  Cresci- 
mir exerting  all  his  strength  pulled 
from  the  sides  the  flat  boards  which 
held  it  fixed  to  the  cabin. 

As  the  flood  rose  higher,  he  took 
the  Christchild  and  lying  down  in 
the  middle  of  the  roof  held  on 
firmly. 

Suddenly  the  roof  was  lifted  and 
whirled  down  the  swollen  arroyo  into 
the  broad  river.  Floating  logs  struck 


A    NAP  A   CHRISTCHILD.  21 

against  it,  and  as  they  tore  along 
under  the  bridge  they  struck  against 
the  buttress  with  terrific  force.  On- 
ward they  were  whirled  ;  they  could 
see  the  lights  in  the  houses  of  the 
village  and  could  hear  the  voices  of 
men  and  women  along  the  bluffs  or 
in  the  trees  where  they  had  sought 
shelter. 

The  rain  ceased  falling,  but  the  wind 
did  not  go  down,  rolling  the  waves 
over  their  raft.  Once  they  lodged  for 
a  moment  against  a  great  oak  where 
Crescimir  strove  in  vain  to  make  fast. 
The  tide  was  too  powerful  and  all 
went  with  it  whirling  blindly  onward. 


III. 

waters  fell  almost  as  rapidly 
[|  as  they  bad  risen,  and  by  sun- 
rise on  Christmas  Day,  the 
river  had  returned  between  its 
banks,  though  still  flowing  fast  and 
frothy. 

Mists  lay  in  strata  along  the  hills 
showing  the  green  grass  between  in 
long,  even  stripes.  Up  from  the 
high  mesas  sprang  the  larks  ready  to 
greet  the  day,  or  perching  for  a  mo- 
ment on  some  sturdy  manzanita  they 
spread  their  broad  tails,  with  two 
white  feathers,  balancing  and  chirping 
cheerily. 


A   NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  23 

A  little  valley  through  which  an 
arroyo  flowed,  scantily  bordered  by 
low  growing  willows,  formed  the 
scene  ;  on  one  side  was  a  stubble-field 
with  many  cattle  grazing  on  the  new 
grass  ;  there  were  a  few  dark  oaks  and 
then  on  the  first  risings,  yellow  patches 
of  vineyards  with  red,  ploughed  ground 
dotted  with  manzanitas.  The  high 
hills  which  formed  the  background 
were  rough  and  black. 

In  the  hollow  at  the  foot  of  the 
mesa  was  a  newly  formed  pond  on 
which  floated  branches  of  trees,  bits 
of  wood  and  some  broken  pieces  of 
household  furniture  ;  about  the  grass 
was  strewn  the  same  sort  of  drift  and 
the  grass  itself  was  torn  and  bent  and 
there  were  yellow-white  bits  of  foam 
upon  it.  At  one  side  wedged  be- 
tween two  encina  trees  lay  the  roof  of 
a  house,  on  the  edge  of  which  a  little 
child  was  sitting  beside  the  body  of  a 
man,  who  lying  with  one  arm  hung 


24  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

listlessly  over  the  side  seemed  asleep 
or  dead.  The  pond  was  fast  lowering, 
leaving  its  burden  of  debris  scattered 
about. 

This  was  the  scene  which  met  the 
searching  eyes  of  Jovita  of  Tulucay 
Rancho  as,  mounted  on  her  horse,  she 
came  around  the  knoll  which  hid  the 
house  and  buildings  of  the  rancho  from 
the  meadow. 

Jovita  quickly  alighted,  took  up  the 
child  in  her  arms,  and  seeing  that  he 
was  unhurt  but  simply  dazed  at  his 
situation,  placed  him  upon  her  horse 
and  gave  her  attention  to  the  man  who 
lay  there,  to  all  appearances  dead. 

"Unfortunate  man, "she  said  aloud, 
unable  to  repress  her  tears,  "  his  wife 
has  probably  been  lost  and  he  has 
saved  their  child." 

She  took  his  hand  in  hers  and  felt 
that  his  pulse  was  yet  beating ;  a 
bruise  on  the  temple  seemed  to  be  the 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 


only  wound  and  was  caused  by  the 
blow  which  had  stunned  him. 

As  Jovita  chafed  his  hands  and 
smoothed  his  forehead,  he  opened  his 
eyes,  and  then  looking  about  aston- 
ished at  his  surroundings,  asked, 
"  Where  is  the  Christchild?  Surely 
I  have  saved  him." 

The  little  one  from  the  back  of  the 
horse  began  in  his  strange  tones  to  sing 
the  "Song  of  the  Hemlock"  in  an- 
swer to  Crescimirs  enquiry. 

"  I  hardly  know  where  we  are,  for 
in  the  darkness  and  swift  whirl  of  last 
night  I  lost  my  way,"  he  said,  sitting 
up.  "I  remember  now  that  some- 
thing struck  me  when  the  raft  stopped. 
I  thank  God  that  the  Christchild  was 
not  lost,  dear  little  fellow." 

"Christchild?"  exclaimed  Jovita, 
looking  at  him  in  surprise,  "  Have 
you  given  your  boy  that  name  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know,  Senorita,  who  the 


26  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

child  is,  but  he  came  to  my  door  last 
night,  Christmas  Eve,  and  brought  me 
some  of  the  merriest  hours  I  have  had 
since  I  left  old  Illyria,  and  had  not 
the  flood  carried  away  everything,  I 
would  have  marked  yesterday  as  one 
of  the  happiest  in  my  life.  He  is  a 
strange  little  fellow  and  will  not,  or 
else  cannot  speak,  yet  he  sings  beau- 
tifully in  his  own  odd  way  as  you  hear 
him  now.  I  called  him  Christchild 
as  I  knew  no  better  name.  Are  you 
not  the  Senorita  of  El  Tulucay?  I 
know  that  horse  which  you  have  and 
have  often  seen  him  with  a  lady  on  his 
back  flying  over  all  the  fields  about 
here." 

"  Yes,  I  am  Jovita  of  the  Tulucay, 
and  I  know  you  now;  you  are  called 
Crescimir  the  Illyrian,  and  I  have 
been  often  to  your  cabin  and  sat  be- 
neath the  great  laurel  while  you  were 
in  the  fields  or  at  your  work.  I  have 
often  left  flowers  there  at  your  door 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  27 

just  for  the  pleasure  of  imagining  the 
surprise  when  you  should  find  them, 
and  I  always   took   the   vegetables  I 
found  there,  for  I  knew  that  they  were 
for  me.     However,  I  never  saw  your 
face  before  this  morning.     You  see  I 
am  little  like  our  Californians,  but  my 
mother  is  from  the  States  and  believes 
in  more   freedom;  she  could  not  be 
better  or  kinder  though  she  were  a  real 
Californian.     If  you  are  able  we  had 
better  go  up  to  the  hacienda  now,  and 
after  breakfast  we  will  look  about  to 
see  if  assistance  is  needed  along  the 
river,  for  the  flood  was  sudden  and  un- 
looked  for." 

Crescimir  was  not  hurt  and  was 
able  to  walk  slowly  to  the  house. 
Jovita  walked  by  his  side,  leading  her 
horse,  while  the  Christchild  sat  quietly 
in  the  saddle,  nodding  his  head  and 
winking  like  any  sleepy  child  of  this 
mortal  world. 

Both  Crescimir  and  Jovita  were  sil- 


28  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

ent  during  the  walk,  but  their  eyes 
often  met,  and  Jovita  would  blush  as 
she  thought  of  her  strange  freak  with 
the  flowers  and  finding  that  the  re- 
ceiver was  by  no  means  the  old  man 
she  had  imagined  him  to  be. 

Crescimir  was  happy  to  think  that 
he  had  not  left  his  gifts  unappreciated 
and  only  regretted  that  he  had  not 
put  whole  pumpkins  there  instead  of 
onions. 

cc  So  you  have  no  idea  to  whom  the 
child  belongs  ?"  asked  Jovita,  as  they 
neared  the  house.  "  He  is  strangely 
dressed  and  the  frock  is  of  an  unfamil- 
iar texture;  he  does  not  seem  cold 
either,  although  he  is  so  lightly  clad. 
We  must  try  to  find  his  parents  who, 
doubtless,  are  now  anxiously  search- 
ing for  him  or  believing  him  drowned 
in  last  night's  awful  flood." 

The  strange  little  creature  seemed 
now  entirely  to  lose  his  sleepiness  and 
broke  into  a  merry  laugh,  sliding  down 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  2p 

from  the  saddle  he  capered  madly 
around  the  two  astonished  spectators 
]ike  a  little  elf  blown  about  by  the 
wind,  his  golden  hair  floating  around 
him  and  the  pink,  little  feet  scarcely 
seeming  to  touch  the  grass. 

"  There  has  been  a  number  of 
campers  passing  through  the  valley  to 
settle  north  on  the  Caymus  ranches, 
this  little  sprite  must  be  one  of  their 
children  who  has  strayed  away,"  said 
Jovita. 

"  Come  little  one,  let  us  go  into  the 
house  and  have  our  breakfast." 

The  Christchild  did  not  seem  to 
understand  her,  for  he  continued  his 
capering  and  wild  antics. 

"Stop,  stop,"  exclaimed  Crescimir 
in  his  native  tongue,  "stop  and  listen 
to  what  the  beautiful  Senorita  says  to 
thee.  Come  now  into  the  house." 

He  ceased  his  play  immediately  and 
went  before  them  up  to  the  door,  with 
tears  in  his  eyes  on  account  of  Cresci- 


30  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

mir's  rebuke.  As  they  reached  the 
veranda  Crescimir  caught  the  little  elf 
up  in  his  arms  and  kissed  his  rosy 
lips;  the  moment  the  child's  feet 
touched  the  ground  when  Crescimir 
put  him  down,  he  put  his  hand  over 
his  mouth  as  if  to  keep  the  kiss  warm 
and  running  to  Jovita,  she  lifted  him 
in  her  arms,  as  he  signed  her  to  do, 
when  suddenly  withdrawing  his  hand, 
he  kissed  her,  looking  back  signifi- 
cantly and  laughing. 

Both  Jovita  and  Crescimir  knew 
what  the  child  had  intended  to  express 
and  both  blushed  consciously,  yet 
could  but  marvel  at  the  acuteness  of 
the  little  creature  who  so  soon  was 
able  to  read  their  hearts,  even  before 
they  had  perfectly  known  them  them- 
selves. 

The  mother  of  Jovita  now  came  to 
the  door  and  inviting  them  into  the 
living  room,  the  events  of  the  past 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  3 1 

night  were  related  and  all  that  was 
known  of  the  little  waif. 

Crescimir  spent  the  day  by  the  river 
searching  for  what  might  have  been 
left  on  the  banks  by  the  flood.  He 
learned  that  his  raft  had  been  carried 
out  of  the  stream  through  a  break 
in  the  bank,  and  much  of  the  wreck- 
age of  his  own  house  with  it.  Re- 
turning to  the  hacienda  he  discovered 
in  a  clump  of  bushes,  over  which  the 
water  had  run  when  at  its  highest 
mark,  the  bodies  of  a  man  and  woman 
entangled  in  the  canvas  cover  of  a 
camp  wagon.  It  was  evident  to  Cres- 
cimir from  their  dress  that  they  were 
German  emigrants. 

With  the  help  of  some  of  the  rancher- 
os  the  bodies  were  carried  to  the  house. 

"  They  may  be  the  parents  of  the 
little  one, "  said  Jovita's  mother.  '  <  We 
will  bring  him  here  and  see  if  he  re- 
cognizes them;  it  seems  cruel  but  it  is 
the  only  way." 


32  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

They  brought  the  Christchild  to  the 
room  where  the  bodies  lay.  When 
the  little  fellow  saw  them,  he  clung  to 
Crescimir  and  uttering  a  moaning 
sound,  yet  seeming  half  like  a  laugh, 
he  hid  his  eyes  and  would  not  look 
again. 

"  Are  these  thy  parents  little  one?' 
asked  Crescimir  tenderly;  the  Christ- 
child  shook  his  head  negatively  and 
broke  into  hysterical  sobs. 

Though  the  Christchild  had  denied 
that  these  were  the  bodies  of  his  par- 
ents, both  Jovita,  her  mother  and 
Crescimir  felt  certain  that  they  were. 

Crescimir  remained  that  night  at 
the  Tuiucay  hacienda  and  early  next 
morning  the  bodies  were  taken  to  the 
village  and  given  burial  in  consecrated 
ground,  as  the  cross  which  the  woman 
wore  and  a  medal  of  silver  which  the 
man  carried  showed  them  to  be  of  the 
true  church. 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  33 

After  the  burial  Crescimir  returned 
to  the  rancheria.  "  I  will  be  thy 
father  now,  little  Christchild,"  said  he 
as  they  stood  at  the  well  with  Jovita, 
who  had  been  filling  the  little  olla  for 
her  mother's  night  drink. 

The  child  looked  up  with  a  pleased 
smile  and  then  turning  to  Jovita, 
asked  with  his  bright  eyes  a  question 
which  words  could  not  better  have 
expressed. 

Jovita  replied  softly  as  she  looked 
down  at  the  strange,  wistful  face,  and 
felt  the  touch  of  Crescimir's  hand  on 
her  own,  "  And  I  thy  mother." 


IV. 

>  Y  THE  beginning  of  summer 
Crescimir's  place  had  all  been 
restored  and  the  house  rebuilt 
Qn  the  summit  Of  the  knoll, 

far  away  from  any  danger  of  another 
flood. 

It  was  a  pretty  cottage  now,  in  the 
new,  American  style  with  a  trellis- 
porch  over  which  passion  vines  spread 
in  the  profusion  of  first  growth.  The 
flower  garden  and  the  long  lines  and 
square  beds  of  the  vegetable  garden 
looked  fresh  and  bright  down  by  the 
arroyo. 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  35 

The  house  had  been  completed  by 
the  middle  of  January  and  Crescimir 
by  careful  and  steady  work  had  brought 
back  his  fields  to  their  former  state. 
The  Christchild  still  lived  with  him, 
always  as  merry  as  the  day  was  long. 
He  was,  as  on  the  night  of  his  arrival, 
still  dressed  in  his  little,  white  frock  or 
shirt  of  strange  texture:  and  he  would 
wear  nothing  else,  not  even  shoes. 

Jovita's  mother  had,  however,  once 
made  for  him  a  suit,  but  when  she 
tried  to  have  him  put  it  on,  he  ob- 
jected so  strenuously  that  the  project 
had  to  be  abandoned,  for  not  even 
Crescimir's  will,  which  usually  was  all 
that  was  needed  on  such  occasions, 
had  not  in  this  case  any  power  at  all; 
so  he  ran  quite  wild  about  the  gar- 
dens, the  same  pretty,  little  elf  as  ever. 

He  was  extremely  fond  of  the  water 
and  paddled  in  the  arroyo  all  day 
long,  so  that  even  the  little  frock  was 
for  the  greater  time  superfluous,  and 


36  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

there  was  never  any  difficulty  in  hav- 
ing it  for  the  old  woman  who  came 
once  a  week  from  the  village  to  do  the 
washing.  She  often  said  that  when 
she  touched  it,  it  gave  her  "goose 
flesh,"  the  "  feel  "  was  so  queer.  She 
had  never  seen  anything  like  it  in  all 
her  long  experience  in  her  particular 
line  of  business. 

Crescimir's  visits  to  Tulucay  were 
frequent  now  and  the  little  Christchild 
always  went  with  him,  his  greatest  de- 
light seeming  to  be  to  see  Crescimir 
and  Jovita  together. 

The  day  for  the  wedding  was  set  to 
be  the  day  before  Christmas,  for  it 
seemed  well  that  as  that  season  had 
firsc  made  them  known  to  each  other, 
it  should  see  them  made  man  and 
wife. 

The  rainless  summer  and  autumn 
passed  and  winter  came  with  its  green 
grass  and  new  flowers. 


A   NAP  A   CHRISTCHILD.  37 

Never  had  there  been  such  a  pros- 
perous year  for  the  Napa  Valley,  and 
the  fields  were  fast  blossoming  with 
little  white  cottages,  while  golden 
vineyards  were  growing  higher  up  the 
hillsides  driving  the  chaparral  back 
from  its  old  inheritance  as  the  Gringos 
did  the  natives.  The  town  had  in- 
creased to  nearly  twice  its  former  size, 
so  Crescimir's  gardens  were  much 
sought,  and  he  no  longer  was  com- 
pelled to  labour  from  sunrise  till  sun- 
set to  keep  the  weeds  away,  for  now 
he  was  able  to  hire  the  hardest  work 
done  and  enjoy  the  fruits  of  his  first 
years'  toil. 

The  month  of  December  came  and 
the  leaves  on  the  poplar  trees  in  the 
village  were  turning  golden,  just  lin- 
gering long  enough  to  mingle  lovingly 
for  a  while  with  the  new-born  green  of 
winter,  and  then  be  hidden  by  the 
growth  of  broad  leaved  plants  as  soon 


38  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

as  they  had  fallen  brown  upon  the 
earth,  producing  that  endless  harmony 
of  Californian  nature,  a  life  everlast- 
ing. 

There  were  a  few  orange  coloured 
poppies  nodding  in  the  mesas  but  vio- 
let star-flowers  scattered  over  the 
lower  meadows  were  powerful  enough, 
by  reason  of  their  numbers,  to  con- 
quer the  colour  of  the  grass,  while  the 
fields  near  the  river  were  yellow  with 
juicy  cowslips. 

Now  the  blue  dome  of  St.  Helena 
was  not  so  often  visible,  for  the  clouds 
hovered  about  it  filled  with  wealth 
giving  rain. 

Ploughing  and  planting  had  begun 
and  in  some  places  the  grain  had  al- 
ready started;  blackbirds  in  hosts  were 
perched  on  all  the  fences,  watching 
the  sowers  and  chattering  saucily  to 
each  other  as  they  snapped  their  bead- 
like  eyes  in  anticipation  of  the  feast  so 
profusely  spreading  for  them. 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  39 

Over  the  low  lands  where  the  bay 
stretched  its  many  arms  in  and  out, 
offering  to  the  ranches  its  assistance 
to  carry  their  abundant  produce  to  a 
market,  the  marshes  were  red  with 
short-growing  sorrel,  and  the  dark 
green  of  the  tules  along  the  edges 
fringed  the  silver  indentations  of  the 
water  in  harmonious  contrast. 

All  this  did  Jovita  and  Crescimir 
see  from  the  veranda  of  Tulucay  as 
with  the  Christchild  by  them  they 
talked  of  the  strange  discovery  and 
first  sudden  birth  of  their  love,  of  how 
Jovita  had  first  left  the  flowers  at  his 
door  and  how  he  had  longed  so  much 
to  know  the  one,  the  only  one  who 
had  cheered  his  loneliness,  and  how  he 
had  loved  the  donor  even  before  he 
had  known  that  it  was  she. 

Then  they  would  talk  of  the  terrible 
flood  which  had  brought  them  together, 
and  how  each  knew  the  other's  love 
the  moment  their  eyes  had  met,  and 


40  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

of  the  mysterious  little  child  who  had 
been  the  medium  of  their  first  lovers' 
kiss. 

They  had  become  quite  accustomed 
to  the  little  elf  s  strange  ways,  and  he 
no  longer  seemed  to  them  to  be  the 
half  supernatural  creature  he  had  at 
first  appeared.  Jovita's  mother  had 
at  last  discovered,  she  was  sure,  that 
the  mysterious  frock  was  nothing  more 
nor  less  remarkable  than  a  kind  of 
goat  hair  woven  carefully  and  fine. 

So  thus  was  the  little  elfin  Christ- 
child  resolved  by  the  power  of  famil- 
iarity into  the  orphan  of  some  German 
emigrants  who  had  lost  their  lives  in 
the  great  flood;  nevertheless,  strangers 
never  passed  him  without  giving  a  sec- 
ond glance  and  never  heard  him  sing 
in  his  sweet,  odd  tones,  without  won- 
dering. 

Crescimir  and  Jovita  were  married 
at  Tulucay  on  the  day  before  Christ- 
mas and  walked  over  the  fields  to  the 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  41 

new  house  on  the  knoll  by  the  laurel 
tree,  the  Christchild  going  with  them. 

He  had  decorated  his  head  and 
frock  with  blossoms  of  early  maripo- 
sas  (calochortus)  in  honour  of  the  oc- 
casion, and  his  joy  seemed  uncontrol- 
able  and  he  skipped  over  the  meadow 
scarcely  seeming  to  tread  upon  the 
ground. 

There  was  a  bright  fire  in  the  cot- 
tage when  they  reached  it;  the  fire 
was  in  an  open  fireplace  similar  to 
that  which  had  been  in  the  old  cabin. 

As  they  entered,  the  Christchild, 
running  up  to  the  hearth,  pointed  to 
the  chimney  piece,  and  then  turning 
to  Crescimir  with  a  look  which  could 
not  be  misunderstood,  began  in  his 
odd  notes  to  sing. 

Crescimir  then  first  noticed  that 
there  was  no  hemlock  branch  above 
the  hearth,  so  taking  one  from  the 
other  side  of  the  room  where  they  hung 
in  festoons,  he  fastened  it  with  a  bunch 


42  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

of  toyone  berries   over   the   chimney 
piece. 

The  sun  was  set  and  in  the  crimson 
glow  with  which  the  heavens  were 
painted,  just  above  the  low,  black  hills, 
shone  bright  and  silvery  the  Evening 
Star. 

Crescimir,  with  Jovita  leaning  on  his 
shoulder,  stood  at  the  west  window 
looking  out  over  the  misty  valley 
where  the  real  seemed  ghostlike  in  the 
gray  evening  haze,  and  even  those 
things  with  which  they  were  familiar, 
seemed  in  the  fading  light  to  take  to 
themselves  unknown  forms. 

1 '  Strange  world  !  "  said  Jovita,  med- 
itatively, *'  Real  and  Unreal  so  often 
blended  that  we  can  never  say  which 
is  tangible  and  which  is  air." 

«'  Look  Jovita,  look  !  "  and  Cresci- 
mir seizing  her  hand  pointed  out  to- 
ward the  garden. 

They  stood  there  gazing  from  the 
window,  as  if  spellbound,  until  the 


A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD.  43 

crimson  light  faded  from  the  sky  and 
the  clear  star  descended  below  the 
hills. 

A  bit  of  mist  or  fog,  or  what  you 
will  hovered  about  the  garden  and 
then  gradually  rising  it  became  dis- 
solved and  was  gone. 

"  Gone  !  "  whispered  Jovita,  as  the 
darkness  shut  out  the  valley  from  view. 
"Good  little  Christchild;  but  his 
memory  shall  ever  be  with  us,"  an- 
swered Crescimir,  as  they  sat  side  by 
side  before  the  open  fireplace. 

Everybody  wondered  where  the  lit- 
tle Christchild  had  gone,  and  search 
was  made,  but,  of  course,  unsuccess- 
fully; yet  Crescimir  and  Jo  vita  said 
nothing. 

Thus,  in  time,  people  forgot  about 
the  tiny  elf  and  now  there  are  few  who 
have  even  heard  of  Crescimir's  guest. 

The  pretty  cottage  may  to-day  be 
seen  on  the  knoll  near  the  wonderful, 


44  A    NAPA    CHRISTCHILD. 

wide-spreading  laurel  tree  and  every 
Christmas  Eve  upon  the  chimney  piece 
of  its  open  hearted  hearth  may  be 
seen  a  dark,  glossy  branch  of  hemlock 
with  a  bunch  of  toyone. 

Before  the  fire  sit  Crescimir  and 
Jovita  singing  the  little  Christmas  car- 
rol  of  the  Illyrian  children.  Some- 
times they  think  that  they  hear  a  sweet, 
soft  voice  joining  in  harmony  with 
their  own,  but  yet  they  are  not  sure 
but  that  it  may  perhaps  be  only  the 
music  of  their  own  happy  hearts,  and 
smiling  at  Jovita,  who  holds  the  little 
Crescimir  in  her  arms,  Crescimir  the 
Illyrian  points  to  the  branch  above 
the  hearth  while  the  little  one  opens 
his  eyes  in  wonderment. 

"  Was  he  not,  Jovita  mia,  like  the 
affection  which  is  seen  by  all  the  world 
between  lovers  before  marriage  ?  And 
then  the  world  wonders  where  it  has 
gone  when  the  priest  has  pronounced 


A   NAPA   CHRISTCHILD.  45 

the  two  as  one.  But  we  married  lov- 
ers will  never  tell,  for  we  are  content 
to  know  that  our  Christchild  has 
sunken  deep  into  our  hearts  where 
his  song  inaudible  to  others  is  heard 
by  us  forever  and  ever." 


jFTER  my  aunt  Benicia's 
death  I  found  in  her  little 
desk  a  bundle  of  letters,  which 
threw  light  upon  the  romance 
of  her  life,  and  on  the  reason  perhaps 
of  her  refusing  many  offers  which 
were  known  to  have  been  made  her 
by  honoured  Californians  of  the  last 
generation.  The  letters  are  curious 
and  interesting  to  me,  and  were  writ- 
ten to  my  uncle  by  his  chum,  and 
enclosed  many  sketches. 

The  letters  are  in  Spanish,  but  for 
your  better  understanding  I  have  trans- 


48  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

lated    them    with   all     their    strange 
expressions  as  best  I  can. 

At  first  I  thought  that  I  would 
destroy  them,  but  as  most  of  my  friends 
who  read  them  now,  have  long  known 
my  aunt  Benicia,  I  feel  sure  that  they 
will  be,  even  in  these  practical  days, 
interested  and  touched  by  the  revela- 
tion they  so  suggest  of  a  life-long  love 
which  filled  the  heart  of  the  good,  little 
woman,  who  is  at  last  at  rest. 

GRUNEN  MARKT. 
WURZBURG,  2oth  October,  1 8 — . 

DEAR  JOSE: 

How  dull  life  here  is,  I  cannot  bear 
to  look  forward  to  the  time  so  far 
ahead  when  I  shall  have  done  with 
the  University,  not  that  I  shall  be  at 
all  unhappy  to  leave  and  return  to  my 
dear  California,  but  the  twelve  or 
sixteen  months  between  now  and  then, 
make  me  shudder  to  think  of. 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  49 

My  time  is  quite  free  now  and  I 
make  many  pleasure  walks  to  Zell  and 
the  Hochberg,  while  almost  every  day 
finds  me  at  some  time  on  the  Nich- 
olausberg  enjoying  its  ever  lovely  views 
of  the  green  Maine  valley,  which  how- 
ever is  now  taking  on  its  first  autumnal 
tints. 

To-day  I  come  from  the  stone  quarry, 
which  lies  on  the  road  to  the  Hoch- 
berg, where  I  have  been  chatting  with 
the  workmen  and  making  a  few 
sketches  to  send  home  to  Benicia  ; 
the  day  has  been  one  of  the  pleasantest 
I  have  known,  just  one  of  those  mild 
autumn  days  we  love  so  much  in  Santa 
Clara  when  her  hills  are  clothed  in  their 
warmest  colours  and  the  big  leaves 
are  first  falling  from  the  fig  trees. 
Ah,  I  did  wish  to  be  back  again  to 
walk  with  you  along  the  dry  Francis- 
quito  and  gather  the  first  golden  pop- 
pies for  Benicia's  black  hair.  Yes, 
of  course,  I  should  be  contented  with 


50  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

these  world-known  beauties  which  I 
have  about  me,  nevertheless,  it  is  a 
pleasure  to  recall  those  happy  days 
now  that  I  am  here  alone  on  the  conti- 
nent of  Europe.  The  warmth  of  our 
Californian  sun  must  have  entered  our 
very  hearts,  for  nowhere  in  all  the 
world  but  there  are  found  no  strangers. 
The  grapes  are  not  all  picked  as 
yet,  and  the  vineyards  are  lively  indeed 
with  gaily  dressed  peasant  girls,  cut- 
ting and  tying  up  the  vines  for  the 
winter.  There  is  a  great  difference 
between  Catholic  and  Lutheran  Ger- 
many in  this  one  regard  of  dress  ;  in 
all  the  Protestant  districts  the  prevail- 
ing colour  is  a  dull  blue,  while  in 
Catholic  parts  the  dress  seems  to  have 
no  end  of  colour  and  brilliant  adorn- 
ment ;  for  an  artist  the  latter  is  more 
pleasing,  but  for  such  a  thoughtful 
moralist  as  yourself,  I  know  the  peas- 
ant girls  in  blue  frocks  would  be 
preferable. 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  51 

There  are  very  few  students  in  the 
city  now  and  scarcely  a  traveller  is 
to  be  seen,  except  now  and  then  a 
stray  one  may  be  noticed  wandering 
about  the  old  cathedral  or  counting 
the  restored  statues  on  the  river 
bridge.  I  always  feel  a  longing  to 
speak  to  these  late  birds  of  passage  for 
they  look  so  forlorn  without  their 
mates,  that  they  make  me  think  of  my 
own  sad  plight  so  far  away  from  you 
all ;  when  the  lectures  begin  I  hope 
that  I  will  be  more  satisfied  than  I  am 
now. 

Every  day  I  go  to  Vespers  at  one  of 
the  churches,  and  I  enjoy  this  bit  of 
the  day  more  than  you  could  believe. 
It  is  beautiful  just  at  dusk  to  enter  the 
church  in  the  Market  Place,  which  is 
near  my  hotel,  and  there  in  the  gloom, 
lighted  only  by  the  tapers  at  the 
shrines  and  where  some  of  the  worship- 
ers are  kneeling,  each  with  a  small 
wax  light  to  illumine  the  Prayer  Books, 


52  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

to  bow  with  them  and  receive  the 
blessing  from  the  priest  and  to  be 
touched  by  the  Holy  Water  ;  then  the 
Ave  Maria,  how  I  love  to  hear  it 
chanted  with  such  heartfelt  praise  by 
the  old  and  trembling  men  and  women, 
who  throw  their  whole  spirit  into  the 
melody.  The  melody,  I  know,  could 
not  bear  cold  criticism,  but  when  I 
kneel  there  beneath  the  great, gray  vault 
and  see  their  breath  ascending  in  the 
cold  air,  bearing  like  incense  their 
prayers  to  Heaven,  and  hear  the  sub- 
dued strains  of  the  organ,  I  feel  that 
it  is  not  the  music  of  this  world,  and 
my  heart  is  moved  and  I  join  in  the 
grand  hymn,  mingling  my  soft  Latin 
words  with  their  glorious  German. 

The  priest  has  passed  down  the 
aisle  and  sprinkled  the  Holy  Water 
over  us  with  the  aspergil,  the  boys 
bearing  the  censers,  preceding  him 
have  passed  from  sight  with  him 
behind  the  dark  curtain  at  the  Chancel 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  53 

door  ;  there  is  a  shuffling  noise  of  the 
departing  worshipers  and  I  am  alone. 

Far  away,  before  the  golden  Altar 
hangs  a  taper  which  throws  a  red  glow 
into  all  the  darkness,  it  is  the  Sacred 
Heart  of  Jesus,  ever  burning  amid  the 
gloom  of  sin.  As  my  eyes  become 
accustomed  to  the  dim  light,  I  can 
discern  a  female  figure  robed  in  gray, 
standing  before  the  shrine  of  the  Vir- 
gin, I  cannot  see  the  face  though  I 
often  try,  but  whenever  she  becomes 
aware  of  my  presence,  she  leaves  the 
cathedral  by  the  little  door  to  the 
right  which  opens  into  the  small 
court.  This  occurs  every  night,  and 
though  I  have  often  tried  to  meet  her 
by  going  out  by  the  other  door  and 
around  the  front,  I  have  as  yet,  not 
succeeded. 

But  enough  of  that  now  ;  today  as 
1  returned  from  my  walk,  I  saw  as  I 
was  crossing  the  bridge  one  of  the  first 
Californian  women  I  have  seen  for  a 


54  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

long  time ;  I  know  that  she  was  Cal- 
ifornian  or  Mexican  for  there  was 
more  life  in  the  eye  than  we  see  in 
the  quiet,  expressionless  beauties  of 
the  rest  of  the  world.  I  do  not  know 
why  I  must  ever  have  this  face  in  my 
mind  since  I  met  the  fair  one  on  the 
bridge  ;  she  looked  at  me  directly  in 
the  eyes,  and  I  feel  sure  that  I  have 
met  her  sometime  before.  I  know 
the  face  ;  there  is  a  strange  drooping 
about  the  eyelids,  which  to  me  adds  a 
charm  to  the  whole  appearance.  I  do 
wish  I  could  think  where  in  the  world 
I  have  seen  her.  I  am  going  to  search 
the  hotel  books  to-morrow  for  I  will 
not  rest  until  I  find  out  her  name. 
It  was  almost  dark,  however,  when  we 
met,  and  she  was  going  toward  the 
opposite  side  of  the  Maine  where 
there  are  no  foreign  hotels. 

I  surmise,  and  suppose,  and  guess, 
but  all  to  no  purpose,  while  that  one 
look  seems  to  be  planted  indelibly 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  55 

upon  my  mind.  I  would  give  anything 
to  see  her  again  ;  I  can  think  of 
nothing  now,  for  the  strange,  inex- 
pressible fascination  of  those  eyelids 
has  me  entirely  captive.  Where  have 
we  met  ?  Try  and  think,  my  dear  boy, 
of  some  one  of  our  acquaintance  who 
tallies  with  my  description  ;  about  my 
height,  black  hair,  a  white,  unusally 
white  face,  finely  marked  eyebrows 
and  the  drooping  lids,  which  when 
raised,  disclose  large,  brilliant,  yet 
languid,  blue  eyes, —  I  cannot  give 
the  picture  to  suit  me,  but  you  note 
the  strange  paleness  and  the  eyes,  and 
you  must  remember  if  you  have  ever 
met  her. 

I  often  go  to  the  little  opera  house, 
where  the  music  is  of  the  best,  yet  I 
cannot  enjoy  myself,  for,  as  ever  I  am 
alone  ;  all  I  can  do  is  just  to  think 
and  think  and  imagine  things  to  inter- 
est me  through  the  dreary  time.  What 
strange  fantasies  I  have  brought  up  in 


56  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

my  life  !  You  know  some  of  them, 
and  it  is  quite  true  as  you  wrote  in 
your  last  that  translation  from  Haw- 
thorne, "  His  caprices  had  their  origin 
in  a  mind  that  lacked  the  support  of 
an  engrossing  purpose  and  feelings 
that  preyed  upon  themselves  for  lack 
of  other  food." 

I  try  to  interest  myself  in  the  things 
about  me,  but  I  am  a  dreamer.  I 
wonder  often  what  my  life  will  come 
to  in  the  end,  of  what  use  I  shall  be. 
No,  it  is  not  good  that  I  should  be 
alone  ;  now,  however,  since  I  have 
seen  the  unknown  beauty,  I  will  not 
have  to  search  my  mind  for  subjects 
to  keep  it  occupied,  for  Senorita  Cal- 
ifornia is  quite  a  solid  damsel  and  far 
from  ethereal,  and  not  at  all  ghostly, 
only  that  look  about  the  eyes  when 
the  lids  are  drooping,  and  the  com- 
plexion. 

Don't  forget  my  usual  token  to  Ben- 
icia  and  give  her  the  sketches,  but  of 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  57 

course  no  word  of  the  girl ;  women 
never  understand  such  things  properly. 
B.  L.  M. 

JOAQUIN. 

ON  THE  NlCHOLAUS  BERG, 

22nd  October  18 — . 

DEAR  JOSE  : 

This  morning  early,  I  took  my  walk 
as  usual  to  the  Chapel  on  the  hill ; 
the  day  was  as  fine  as  the  last  three 
have  been  and  I  began  to  feel  better 
contented  with  so  much  Californian 
weather  to  help  me. 

Yesterday  I  did  not  think  so  much 
of  the  bridge  beauty  but  today  her 
strange  features  have  come  to  me  with 
double  vividness,  and  it  was  to  escape 
from  this  that  I  took  the  walk  so  very 
early  this  morning.  I  brought  my 
sketch-book  with  me  and  expected  to 
pass  the  whole  day  on  the  hill  and  in 
the  woods  just  beyond. 


58  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

The  little,  old  woman  who  sweeps 
away  the  dry  leaves  from  the  steps  so 
ruthlessly,  smiled  more  than  usual 
when  I  gave  her  the  customary  two 
pfennigs.  I  can  never  understand  how 
the  poor  creature  wages  such  a  heart- 
less war  against  these  dying  leaves  of 
Autumn ;  it  seems  that  she  should  have 
a  sisterly  feeling  for  them, knowing  that 
she  is  herself  so  near  to  her  own 
December. 

The  Stations  of  the  Cross  are  ar- 
ranged in  little  shrines  on  the  many 
terraces  which  adorn  the  castle  side 
of  the  hill;  it  is  a  pretty  thought, 
bordering  the  path  to  the  chapel  with 
these  stone  pictures,  most  of  them 
representing  Christ's  long,  weary  jour- 
ney up  Mount  Calvary.  There  are 
always  to  be  found  before  these  shrines, 
people,  mostly  the  peasantry,  praying 
aloud,  and  here  and  there  many  a 
time  I  have  seen  them  ascending  the 
toilsome  road  on  their  knees. 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  59 

What  a  grand  view  one  has  from  the 
summit ;  the  wide  Valley  of  the  Maine 
not  yet  brown,  but  smiling   as-  it  al- 
ways does  in  its  green  beauty,  far  into 
December.      The    lumber   rafts    are 
floating  lazily  down,   as  it  were  in  a 
dream,    little   thinking  that  in  a  few 
more   hours  they   will   have  reached 
their  journey's  end,  there  to  be  brok- 
en.     They  are  like  myself  somewhat, 
who   am   just  as  lazily,  uselessly  and 
alone  wandering  through   life  to  the 
ending  sooner  or  later ;  it  is  hard  to 
go  against  the  stream  and  the  river  is 
long  and  lovely,  so  I  will  float  on  just 
a  little  farther. 

I  made  a  sketch  of  Wtirzburg  with 
its  many  spires  and  domes,  which  I 
enclose  for  Benicia,  and  then  turned 
my  attention  to  the  Chapel  with  which 
I  am  always  delighted  ;  the  frescoes 
in  the  dome  are  good  and  I  never  tire 
of  sitting  and  looking  up  at  them  while 
I  listen  to  the  dull  chanting  of  the 


60  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

Capuzin  monks  behind  the  iron  grat- 
ing to  the  right. 

I  have  often  had  conversation  with 
these  monks  whom  I  meet  walking  in 
the  garden,  and  find  them  pleasant 
and  entertaining,  and  far  from  being 
the  gloomy  mortals  some  people  think 
them  to  be. 

*     *     # 

NICHOLAUS  BERG. 

Night. 
DEAR  JOSE  : 

Before  I  had  finished  my  letter, 
Brother  Andreas,  with  whom  I  am  bet- 
ter acquainted  than  with  the  others, 
came  to  me  and  asked  me  to  walk 
with  him ;  he  is  not  a  German,  but  is 
from  Spain,  so  you  see  I  find  use  for 
my  mother  tongue  where  I  little  ex- 
pected to  need  it.  Brother  Andreas 
speaks  German  of  course,  as  he  has 
been  here  some  twenty  years,  and 
tells  me  he  is  quite  contented  with 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  61 

his  life,  never  having  a  desire  for  sun- 
ny Spain,  saying  that  all  the  home  he 
has  is  beyond  this  world ;  I  wish  that 
I  might  feel  as  contented  as  the  old 
Capuzin. 

But  you  are  curious  to  know  why  I 
am  here  at  this  time,  and  I  will  hasten 
to  tell  you  what  the  strange  cause  is. 

We  walked  about  the  Chapel  and 
through  parts  of  the  garden  where  I 
had  never  been  before,  Brother  An- 
dreas relating  to  me  the  history  of  the 
city  and  the  little  Chapel.  By  this 
time  we  had  wandered  to  the  front  of 
the  building,  and  Brother  Andreas 
raising  his  arm  pointed  to  the  face  of 
the  church  over  the  door  and  repeat- 
ed, "  Refugium  Peccatorum,  Conso- 
latrix  Afflictorum,  Sancta  Maria,  Ora 
Pro  Nobis." 

I  did  not  look  up  at  first,  my  atten- 
tion at  the  tirne  being  directed  to  a 
company  of  peasants  in  the  neighbour- 
ing vineyard,  but  at  the  words  "  Sancta 


62  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

Maria,"  I  raised  my  eyes  to  the  face 
of  the  church,  and,  oh  my  God,  what 
did  I  see  ! 

"Ora  pro  nobis,"  broke  uninten- 
tionally from  my  lips,  I  clung  convul- 
sively to  the  arm  of  the  good,  old 
priest,  my  eyes  were  riveted  upon  the 
niche  above  the  door,  for  there  look- 
ing down  on  me,  her  eyes  strangely 
drooping,  her  hands  folded  across  her 
breast,  stood  the  woman  whom  day 
before  yesterday  I  met  on  the  bridge ; 
I  say  stood  the  woman,  but  it  was 
only  a  statue  carved  in  gray  stone,  an 
image  of  the  Virgin,  such  as  we  see 
every  day  in  the  churches  ;  this,  how- 
ever, was  somewhat  different,  as  it 
held  no  infant  Christ  in  its  arms,  and 
then  the  face,  that  was  not  the  face 
which  should  be  given  to  Mary,  the 
Mother  of  our  Saviour. 

No,  the  more  I  see  those  eyes, 
which  I  at  first  so  much  admired, 
the  more  I  hate  their  look,  but  also 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  63 

strange  to  say,  the  more  I  am  fascin- 
ated. 

In  a  few  moments  I  had  recovered 
my  usual  composure  enough  to  assure 
Brother  Andreas  that  the  cause  of  my 
strange  behaviour  was  a  sudden  illness 
to  which  I  was  often  subject,  when 
tired,  but  the  good  man  shook  his 
head  sadly  and  said,  "  No,  my  child, 
you  have  seen  something  supernatural, 
which  has  disturbed  you ;  it  is  well 
that  I  am  here."  With  that,  he  im- 
mediately made  the  Sign  of  the  Cross 
and  drew  me  into  the  chapel  where 
he  made  some  use  of  the  Holy  Water 
which  I  did  not  understand,  nor  did 
I  care,  for  the  sudden  fright  which 
had  stopped  my  heart  in  its  beating, 
now  that  all  was  over,  sent  the  blood 
rushing  through  my  veins  with  fright- 
ful rapidity  making  my  head  ache  so 
terribly  that  I  thought  that  I  must  die. 

It  was  dark,  the  next  I  knew,  the 
room  was  strange  to  me  ;  A  Crucifix 


hung  on  the  wall,  before  which  a 
single,  dim  oil  lamp  was  burning, 
before  this  was  a  monk  at  prayer  ; — 
it  seemed  like  a  dream  to  me,  it  could 
not  be  real. 

After  awhile  I  moved,  and  the  monk 
rose  and  came  to  me,  showing,  in  the 
flickering  light,  the  fatherly  features  of 
Brother  Andreas. 

"  My  child,"  he  said,  taking  my 
hand  in  his,  "  I  am  happy  that  you 
are  of  our  flock,  for  I  can  help  you  ; 
I  know  your  thoughts ;  it  is  well  to 
think  now  when  all  is  still.  I  will  not 
urge  you,  but  Christ  is  ever  seeking 
for  your  soul ;  come  to  the  true  light 
of  the  Church  where  he  may  find  you." 

I  made  confession  and  received 
absolution,  and  he,  making  the  Sign 
of  the  Cross,  went  from  the  room. 

Presently  I  heard  the  monotonous 
chant  of  the  monks  in  the  Chapel  and 
knew  it  was  midnight.  I  have  writ- 
ten this  to  you  hurriedly  on  paper  I 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  65 

have  in  my  portfolio.  The  chanting  is 
over  and  Brother  Andreas'  step  is 
audible  in  the  echoing  corridor. 
Good  Night. 

Besa  la  mano, 

JOAQUIN. 

NICHOLAUS  BERG. 
3oth  October,  18— . 

DEAR  JOSE  : 

I  am  still  at  the  cloister,  though  I 
have  done  nothing  it  seems  to  me  dur- 
ing the  past  week  but  sleep,  and  am 
hardly  strong  enough  now  to  carry 
the  pen  over  the  paper  as  I  write  to 
you. 

The  statue  over  the  door  stands 
there  as  it  ever  has,  but  it  is  too  far 
away  for  me  to  see  the  awful  eyes,  so 
I  can  say  nothing  about  them.  But 
now  my  dear  friend  I  have  something 
more  wonderful  than  ever  to  tell  you. 


66  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

Every  night  when  the  moon  shines, 
this  image  of  the  Virgin  comes  down 
from  her  niche  and  wanders  about 
the  church  ;  I  have  seen  her  four  or 
five  times,  and  she  has  often  come 
under  my  window  in  these  lone  walks, 
and  once  I  spoke  to  her,  but  the 
moment  my  voice  sounded  on  the 
night  air  she  was  gone,  and  the  same 
gray,  stone  image  stood  silent  and 
dead  in  the  niche. 

What  can  I  think  of  all  this?  I 
could  not  believe  if  any  one  should 
tell  me  of  these  things,  but  what  I 
see  with  my  own  eyes  I  certainly  can- 
not doubt. 

The  Brother  Andreas  is  very  good 
to  me,  and  my  box  has  been  brought 
from  the  hotel  to  the  cloister,  so  my 
room  is  as  cheerful  as  possible  with  all 
your  pictures  around  me. 

How  I  wish  that  you  were  here,  or 
I  could  hear  from  you,  but  never,  my 
dear  boy  will  that  time  come,  I  fear ; 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  67 

I  have  given  up  the  idea  of  ever  hav- 
ing so  great  a  pleasure  in  this  world. 
I  cannot  write  more  now  as  I  am  too 
weak.  Good  night  and  greet  Benicia 
for  me. 

3ist  October 

It  is  very  late,  but  I  must  write  now 
or  never.  To-night  the  image  was 
stranger  than  ever,  and  for  the  first 
time  I  heard  its  voice,  and  oh,  it 
sounded  too  sweetly  to  me  as  I  sat  by 
the  window  and  looked  out  over  the 
city  as  the  moon  rose  above  the  hills 
to  the  east. 

The  Brothers  were  chanting  at  the 
time,  and  their  deep  base  came  in 
ever  and  ever  so  beautifully  between 
the  stanzas  which  the  Virgin  sung, 
and  as  she  sung,  she  came  down  from 
her  station  slowly,  as  if  there  were 
steps  in  the  air  and  she  could  tread 
upon  them.  The  words  were  as 
weird  as  the  scene. 


68  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

"  The  silver  moon  is  slowly,  slowly  rising 
The  night  is  clear  and  all  the  clouds  are 

fled, 
Their   midnight  prayer  the  weary  monks 

are  chanting  ; 
Now  I  may  leave  my  cold  and  stony  bed." 

Then  the  monks  chanted  in  their 
low,  measured  tones, 

'•  Sancta  Maria,  ora  pro  nobis  ! 

Mater  Christi,  ora,  ora  !" 
"  Cursed  be  my  lot,  but  useless  is  repining, 

Here  must  I  stay  till  dreary  day  is  gone, 
Living  only  in  the  pale  moon's  shining  ; 

To-night  my  hated  penance   though    is 

done. 
Gaily,  gaily,  gaily  I'll  live 

Though  I  be  but  a  spirit  of  air  ; 
Every  pleasure  the  world  can  give 

Shall  be  mine  while  the  moon  shines  fair. 

The  Devil  in  Hell  has  promised  me 

That  if  I  gain  him  a  soul 
I  shall  be  forever  from  that  time  free, 

So  long  as  the  Rhine  shall  run  to  the  sea 
And  the  Maine  shall  Rhineward  roll." 

And  from   the   heights   above  the 
echo  came, —  "  Roll —  roll." 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  69 

Then  running  lightly  to  the  wall, 
which  is  on  the  river  side,  she  leaned 
over  and  sung  in  a  high,  unearthly, 
wild  voice,  while  her  dark  hair  waved 
in  the  night  wind, 

"Beautiful  river  rushing  on, 
Touched  with  light  by  the  silver  moon, 
Grant  me  now  this  simple  boon. 
Let  thy  merry  spirits  come, 
And  elfin  dancers  with  beating  drum, 
Here  with  me  for  the  wild  night  long, 
To  dance  and  whirl  with  eldrich  song 
Till  the  moon  shall  faint  and  her  light  be 
gone/' 

Then  running  merrily  to  the  other 
side  nearer  my  window,  she  sung  in 
the  same  wild  key,  as  she  turned  her 
face  to  the  forest, 

"  Spirits  of  the  black  larch-wood 

Come  to-night  to  dance  and  sing, 

Come  and  all  thy  flowers  bring, 

Come  and  gaily  join  our  ring, 

Come  upon  thy  fleetest  wing, 

Come,  oh  come,  ere  the  moon  be  fading." 


70  BENICIA  S    LETTERS. 

The  low  chanting  of  the  Monks 
ceased,  and  as  I  opened  my  window 
wider  I  could  hear,  like  the  higher 
notes  of  an  organ,  voices  rising  from 
the  river  and  mingling  in  heavenly 
harmony  ;  I  could  not  at  first  catch 
the  words,  but  the  sweet,  divinely 
sweet  strains  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
and  then  with  the  same  inexpressible 
gentleness,  softly  as  if  wafted  from 
the  angelic  chorus  came  the  rich,  low 
notes  from  the  forest,  like  the  hum- 
ming of  bees,  the  sighing  of  hemlocks, 
or  that  sweet,  strange  sound  we  ever 
hear  in  the  ocean  shell.  The  voices 
came  nearer  and  I  could  hear  the 
wild,  free  words  long  before  the  sing- 
ers were  in  the  court. 

"  We  are  coining  from  the  forest, 
All  laden  with  flowers. 
With  bright,  crimson  flowers 
All  sparkling  with  dew." 

Then  from  the  river  rose  the  song  : 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  71 

"  We  come  from  the  water 
With  bright,  polished  pebbles, 
With  white,  glitterng  pebbles, 
Our  love-gift  to  you." 

The  singing  now  was  in  the  very 
garden,  but  I  could  not  see  the  sing- 
ers, though  I  knew  that  they  were 
there,  for  the  strange  creature-image 
whirled  about  the  court,  laughing  and 
nodding  on  every  side,  while  the  mu- 
sic grew  each  moment  louder  and 
wilder,  when  suddenly  all  was  still, 
and  the  image  pausing  in  the  middle 
of  the  court  began  with  many  odd 
gestures  this  weird  song  : 

"  What  am  I  ?    Who  am  I  ?     Where  did  I 

come  from  ? 
What,  who  and  where — well,  no  human 

knows  ; 
Ye  though  my  loved  ones  know  what  to 

answer, 

My  pale  face  ye  follow  wherever  it  goes. 
My  home  's  in  the  forest,  my  home  's  in  the 
city, 


72  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

Wherever  the  terror  of  loneliness  lies, 
And  woe  be  to  him  who  when  out  in  the 

moonlight 
Catches  the  glance  of  my  soul-piercing 


By  day  I  am  stone 
By  night  I  have  breath, 
And  those  whom  I  meet,  know  the  sister 
of  Death." 

"Curse  you  !"  I  shrieked,  leaning 
from  the  window,  and  all  was  gone  ; 
the  statue  was  in  its  niche  again,  the 
Maria  Virgo  Sancta.  I  staggered  back 
from  the  window  and  was  received  al- 
most breathless  from  excitement  in 
the  arms  of  Brother  Andreas  who  en- 
tered the  room  just  then. 

"  My  child,  you  should  not  sit  by 
an  open  window  ;  I  fear  that  you  have 
done  yourself  an  injury  already."  He 
laid  me  down  on  the  bed  and  when  I 
awoke  he  was  gone,  and  now  I  am 
writing  off  this  scrap  of  a  letter  for 
you  my  dear  friend.  How  I  long  to 
see  you,  and  oh,  why  can  I  not  have 


BENICIA'S  LETTERS.  73 

you  here  !  Would  to  God  that  I  had 
not  met  the  woman  on  the  bridge. 
My  friend,  my  Jose,  I  dare  not  tell 
you  what  I  fear ;  those  eyes  were 
upon  me,  those  fatal  eyes,  No,  no  I 
will  not  keep  it  from  you,  I  will  tell 
you  all  and  leave  you  the  terrible  duty 
of  telling  Benicia. 

My  dear  boy,  I  am  growing  colder 
each  moment ;  my  hand  trembles  as 
I  write  this,  my  last  letter ;  I  pray 
that  I  may  have  strength  to  finish  it. 
The  river  was  not  so  long  as  I  expec- 
ted, and  now  my  poor  raft  is  breaking. 
Nor  would  I  live, .  for  now  1  know 
who  has  power  over  me,  I  know  now 
whose  were  those  drooping  eyelids ; 
it  is  better  not  to  live,  for  I  have  not 
strength  to  conquer  them. 

It  is  autumn,  the  last  leaves  are 
falling,  the  cold  winter  is  coming,  but 
I  shall  not  be  here  to  dread  its  cold. 
My  winter  is  on  me  now,  and  may 
God  grant  that  through  it  I  come  to 


74  BENICIA'S  LETTERS. 

the  eternal  spring.  All  that  I  want  is 
to  see  Benicia  and  you  once  more, 
but  that  cannot  be.  Now  a  last,  long 
farewell  to  Benicia  ;  I  can  write  no 
more,  I  am  too  cold.  The  raft  is 
broken  ;  the  journey  was  not  long. 

God  bless  you,   good  bye  ;   I  am 

going   to   lie   down   now.     Give   the 

ruby  ring,  which  I  wear,  to  dear  Benicia 

as  a  memory  of  me  ;  and  tell  Beni — 

*     *     * 

Here  was  the  ending  of  the  letter 
in  the  unfinished  name  of  his  loved 
one. 


